


Artist

by baekkieony



Series: Drowning Alive [19]
Category: YHNEXT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Blood, Blood and Gore, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description, Hurt, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Painting, Twisted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 11:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14591778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baekkieony/pseuds/baekkieony
Summary: Zeren knows he's twisted, but sometimes sickness equals creativity.





	Artist

**Author's Note:**

> Don't read this if you can't handle bloody stuff, I'm serious.

The wall is painted red and white, like blood and snow, war and peace.

Zeren wants to look away, but he also can't, because he's captured and infatuated by the contrast this piece of art creates in it's own way.

He has to smile; grin half monster, half human and he doesn't know what he is anymore, but it doesn't matter; never did anyway, because he knows that everyone has always told him that he's different in a cruel way, which, apparently, makes him to be the creature he's now.

He dips his brush into the pool of red on the floor one last time, lifting it almost weightlessly and finishing the paint with one last draw of the brush in endlessly perfection.

He's happy, he has to say, because there's this beautiful portrait of Wenjun on the wall and it's perfect and he knows he has drawn him even more beautifully than he is in real life and Zeren knows it's drawn with Wenjun's blood which gives it just the right twist Zeren needs to be satisfied.

They all told him he's sick; half monster, half human, but he never saw it, because listen: what's the problem if Zeren thinks real art only expresses itself when either the artist or the muse is dead.

And he knows, just knows, that this will be his last piece, that this is the final end, the stop on his road and he also may know that he's sick and that he's twisted, but he can't help himself, because aren't we all a little twisted?

A tear drops onto the pool of blood constantly leaking further and further towards his feet, soles of his shoes already a little soaked. And he admires the finality of seeing people bleeding, admires the perfection of liquid our body produces to keep us alive and he also admires destroying the source of blood, because then he can see it leaking and he knows he has won over the fight for perfection between the blood and him again and it satisfies him in a way nothing else can.

It must be kind of odd, seeing him sitting down in all the blood pouring from Wenjun's dead body, from his lover, because his heart is literally bleeding and Zeren is the small island of peace in an never ending war in his mind, monster against human. His smile is sickly twisted when he looks at Wenjun, eyes dead and lifeless, drained from emotions and looking blindly into the stars Zeren has pained in their self-made heaven of sickness.

He loved Wenjun because he was just as twisted as himaelf, he loved his wicked smile, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, his ability to manipulate people with words. He loved Wenjun because he was like Zeren and he had to die because Zeren can't accept people being the same like him but just better.

But he knows that Wenjun would like to die this way, cruel yet beautifully, humiliating in every possible way and in the end Zeren made sure it was art.

He knows that the other's would never understand, that he can't tell them, can't show them his last piece of art, because they'll catch him beforehand and he won't run away, because this was made to be his last piece; the masterpiece.

He hears the door open, monster inside him growling and he can hear them running, storming inside, sees someone standing in front of him and retreating again and he hears the "click" of the handcuffs, but the only thing he can do is stare and smile, sick until he dies.

The wall is painted beautifully, red splattered all over it in the most precise ways anyone has ever seen and Zeren thinks that art doesn't need to be alive to express something.

His gaze wanders to the ground, grin twisted sickly and he laughs along with his monster, because he knows that the real art is laying on the bloody painted floor.

**Author's Note:**

> This is some twisted shit.


End file.
